


Routine

by pridecookies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Grey Warden Joining, Grey Wardens, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:53:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28774887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pridecookies/pseuds/pridecookies
Summary: Anders has a nightmare, Hawke offers comfort.
Relationships: Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age), Anders/Justice (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s), Anders/Male Hawke
Kudos: 15





	Routine

It wasn’t common that he had them, it wasn’t rare either. It was a place in between, inking into their life and coloring the night with tensions in the wrong way. Anders would stir, his heartbeat rapid and his legs twitching under the chaotic malevolence of his dreams. As he did in the Deep Roads, Justice would surge and his body would ignite and Malcolm would wake up to that light from underneath their sheets. And Maker, it always hurt. There was never a time when Malcolm didn't hurt to see it. If he could storm the Fade, rip it apart to stop Anders’ dreams, he would. 

“Anders,” he whispered, moving to hold him as the nightmares came to rest on his mind, clouding him. Malcolm pulled himself up against the wall and pulled Anders with him, stirring him easily, holding him with a confident grip.Grasping him and offering that grip as a silent affirmation of  _ mine _ . Anders’ eyes opened and the dreams faded with the Fade. Fingers clutched at Malcolm’s skin and he found anchorage there, in the dark, running from the light.

“Dear heart,” Malcolm hushed, forehead pressed against his, “You’re alright now.”

Anders moved, legs over Malcolm’s lap, held in a fetal position as he shivered. Without a quiver in his hands, Malcolm would trace the lines of Anders’ face and look for his eyes. That was the key, eye contact. Touch would anchor and eye contact would bring him back to shore. Then, he would dock the boat the way they had found worked best and he would smooth the jagged edges of dreams that left his mind feeling raked and bruised and weary with words.

“I love you,” he spoke into Anders’ skin, arms wrapped around him and rocking him back and forth to shift him from where he was lodged, resettling him like sand in a jar, “ _ I love you.” _

Breathing Malcolm in, a smell so familiar, Anders would stop in his shudder and Malcolm would continue speaking affirmation over him until he told him otherwise. That was their way, filling Anders’ mind with beautiful things to keep everything else at bay. Crowd it out. Rewrite it. Make it new. Some nights he needed more, he needed something to altar the point of attention, something tangible to do like throwing daggers against a tree. This was one of those nights.

When he was afraid like this, he didn’t say anything. Malcolm would coax him back into speech, reaching inside him to draw the little boy out. That twelve year old from the Anderfels that arrived at the Circle and was silent for months. When Justice surged in sleep, that little boy sometimes surged with him and affirmation wasn’t enough. Malcolm had to prompt his healer back another way. But they had routines, things they had learned over the years.

“Do you need a focal point?” he asked. Anders looked up at him, eyes lulled with weariness and terror still present in his gaze. Malcolm laid a hand on his cheek to steady that gaze, redirecting it toward his own. Keep it there. With a slow nod, Anders moved slightly so his hands were above the blankets, palms outstretched and waiting. 

“Bird,” Malcolm said, kissing the crown of his hair. 

With a breath in, Anders let light pool in his palms, white and clean. He focused on the shape, forming a bird that wisped in the air. Malcolm’s head lopped against his and he worked his fingers into his hair, slowly moving his hand back and forth against his scalp. 

“Cat,” the blood mage said, smiling faintly.    
  
As he did with the bird, Anders created a cat and watched it play in his palm, the animal always bringing joy to his features. Their own cats were scattered around the house, two at Anders’ feet, purring softly in sleep. He nuzzled against Malcolm and let the shape of the cat fall away. Looking up at the blood mage, he silently asked for another. 

Malcolm hummed to himself, searching for something more difficult, “Deepstalker.”

With a heavy sigh, Anders threw him a look and Malcolm snorted.

“Okay, halla,” he offered. It was harder, the horns were complicated. It would require a lot of concentration and it might be difficult enough to bring him back fully. With a focused expression, blonde brows furrowed, Anders worked at the shape in his hands. It was a beautiful animal, graceful and lithe as elves often were. Its horns were like willow branches, extending out in lines that looked painted with fine brushes. The healer did his best to try to capture its beauty, sitting up straighter in the process. Malcolm smiled, watching him, adoring the way the skin around his eyes crinkled slightly when he concentrated or smiled. Worth every loss. 

The halla wasn’t perfect, but it was indeed a halla. It danced in his hands and when he was at least mildly satisfied, he let it wisp into the air and fall into nothing. Malcolm watched it himself, the light in the room fading to black in a way that offered comfort. Light combatting light. 

Wrapping an arm around Anders’ and pulling him closer to his side, hand resting on the top of his head and his other hand on his knee, he nuzzled against his face, “Better?” he murmured.

Anders looked up at him, smiling weakly but smiling, “Better.”

With the affirmation of Anders’ speech that he had come back to him, Malcolm knew he was what he said he was. Better. Not perfect, not completely at ease. But better. As good as he could be with the taint in his blood. Peace flooded over him and they shifted down into the sheets again, Malcolm’s hands never lessening in contact. 

Anders curled against his chest, their legs intertwined from ankle to knee. Malcolm’s arms were wrapped around him and Anders’ arms around him. They would stay that way, fall asleep entangled and reaching for each other as they were for seven years and would be for seven more and seven more and seven more and seven more until there were no more years left. Until they were old and grey, until the world fell into nothing, until the Calling sung in Anders’ ears and they remained entangled as they slipped into death together. 


End file.
